Little Earthquakes
by luna amara
Summary: I stole Tahti's original character to write her a piece of fluff for Valentine's Day cause we don't do that holiday, but we'd do it with Jack. So trust me, this will rot your teeth by our standards. M for language but innocent otherwise. Jack/Mary Sue


Little Earthquakes

"Fuck off, Jack!"

"Nat…"

"Don't Nat me! You are not getting hot makeup sex out of this!"

"I'm not exactly sure I'm trying to…"

She is not done ranting once he closes the apartment door behind them, that much is clear from the way she flings her jacket over the couch, practically daring him to pick it up and fold it neatly like he's wont to do. He doesn't, even though he sees it landing there, splashed over the pillows she'd color-coordinated with the curtains and and knocking the coffee table books off balance and he's very, very tempted, but there are other things to worry about now. Things such as his girlfriend blowing a gasket and directing the hot steam in his direction. He needs to figure out why and quickly now that they're enjoying the privacy of their apartment and close proximity to a set of sharp kitchen knives. Jack's days of having National Enquirer photographers camped outside the building are long over and he's never cared about what neighbors or anybody else thinks or hears from a fight, but he's got enough self-preservation to not ask before they were inside and she was busy making herself more and more upset with each verbal torrent.

"Did you even _have_ a girlfriend in the 90s? Ever dated in college?"

Jack wants to laugh and tell her about the SoHo New Age Argentinian painter girlfriend who used to tie him up and splash paint on him when he was still asleep and then take pictures of her "masterpiece", but he treasures his testicles and would like to continue to have them attached to his body.

"I'm sorry I've upset you. I didn't realize it was that important to you… I mean… we were just making conversation in the car. I don't understand…"

"Don't understand what? That maybe not all of us think that cool music just _**has**_ to be played by three junkies in a basement who call themselves The Anal-Retentive Mississippi Scavenger Hunt and that if more than ten people know about them they're sell outs?"

"The… Anal Retentive… Mississippi… is that a real name?"

There go your balls, Jack! He can't hold it in any longer though and actually breaks into a grin, hoping it's boyishly charming enough to make her want to jump him for a make out session rather than just jump on him to claw his face off. Natalie just glares and seems completely unimpressed with the little sheepish look he gives her from beneath his eyelashes as he's studying his shoes.

"Oh, I see… you think it's just hilarious. I bet you think it's that time of the month and the stupid little girl is a big drama queen cause she's PMSing!"

"What…?"

"Is that what you think? Do you just wait it out for a few days until I'm no longer a PMSing basketcase?"

"It's not like I cross days on the calendar! Look,. I don't keep track… I just don't understand why you're accusing me of things I didn't do!"

He feels the fun slipping out of the situation with his tone rising and his brain trying desperately to make some sense out of the chaos.

"You know what? It doesn't matter… forget it…"

She yanks the scrunchy holding her hair in place and ruffles her hand through it in resignation.

"I don't want to hurt you. And I'm sorry about whatever it was that I said but, baby… I'm not going to have a fight with you over the merits of Tori Amos' music."

He's not being entirely truthful because he _does_ remember now that he's made fun of "overkill concept albums" in a rather offhand manner when one particular song had come up on the radio with some DJ guy commenting on it and just kept artfully digging his hole even deeper. However, that's usually not enough to make her turn into a fire-breathing dragon.

"I said forget it," she murmurs in a seething tone, avoiding eye contact at all costs. "Need the bathroom?"

"No, I'm fine. Natalie…"

"I'm going to take my make up off."

Jack shrugs helplessly and watches her back disappear down the hallway, suddenly feeling very tired. He heads for the fridge, missing a cold beer more than ever in the last one year, seven months and 12 days in Los Angeles time, and grabbing a cold coke instead. He kicks off his shoes and gives one last longing glance in the direction of the bedroom before he picks up her jacket and plops down on the couch ready to find consolation in the loving arms of Cindy Brunson or Chris McKendry, whichever one's available tonight. He's not picky and any woman on ESPN's Sports Center is a goddess as far as he's concerned.

That's where she finds him later that night when the need for a cup of tea finally outweighs the need to not be around him for a while, engrossed in the latest baseball scores. Natalie leans against the counter waiting for the teapot, with her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes scanning the back of his head and his arm resting outstretched on the back of the couch, the contour of his big shoulder outlined in the dark against the cathodic blue of the screen. She bites the inside of her cheek, trying to remember when was the last time she touched him tonight because she misses it as if she hand't put her hands on him in years. She won't blame him if he doesn't want to speak to her right now though. She's not exactly too fond of herself at the moment.

Shit! Her eyes finally make it beyond his hand resting on the couch and she realizes her Advil is somewhere in her jacket pocket and her jacket is neatly draped over the other end of the couch where Jack's sitting. She's trying to decide for a while if she'll be able to make it overnight without one or if she's a big enough of a coward to quietly get dressed and drive out at this hour to buy a new stash rather than have to face Jack. Maybe he's caught up enough in the Sox's best draft perspectives that he won't notice her? She knows she's being irrational but tiptoes towards the couch anyway determined to play it cool if all else fails.

"You OK?" His hand is on hers faster than her willpower can regroup for playing it cool and she nods slowly, not wanting to break away from his thumb rubbing circles on the soft skin of her inner wrist. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean to be a jerk."

She squeezes his hand and lets him slowly pull her towards him, sitting on his lap until she's finally draped all over him. She remembers the last time she touched him, the kiss she gave him before the lights went off in the theater earlier in the night.

"No, you weren't…"

He drops the remote as soon as he hits the mute button, freeing both arms to wrap around her.

"I'm sorry I didn't realize you were such a fan," he whispers into her damp hair, sniffing the fragrance he's so used to smelling on his pillow.

"No, it's not that. I'm sorry I was such a bitch. It was just that… I really shouldn't drag you to sad Finnish movies and then freak out with all that existentialist crap when I'm hormonal."

"I thought you take me to those movies because there's only five other people in the theater and we can fool around." He's finally relieved to feel her smile against his skin where she's found her way back to the crook of his neck. "I love that you have such great taste. Have I ever complained?"

"No, that's just the thing," she confesses between scattered kisses on his neck "I was looking for an excuse to fight because when I saw that couple onscreen and how… miserable they really were when everything looked perfect from the outside… I realized I can tell when you're happy or when you're concerned about something or when you're tired and worried about work… But I never know when you're sad or worried or unhappy about _us_. You never complain. And I know all these things about you that nobody else in the world will ever find out and I guess I know when I make you happy, but… I don't know if I'm giving you all you need."

The hand that's caressing her hair stops and slides lower towards her face to bring her eyes level with his.

"You're _**here**_. And you love me for some reason and you want to make me happy. To me that's… I can't even explain it. So the fact that you hog the bathroom in the morning sort of pales in comparison."

She bursts into laughter first and tears later and kisses him for a good long while before she rests her forehead on his.

"God, listen to me… I really am a hormonal basketcase."

"You're _my_ hormonal basketcase and I love you so I guess I'm stuck with you."

"You lucky, lucky man. I guess we kinda missed our opportunity for hot, steamy make up sex, huh?"

She shifts a little knowing his legs must be going numb by now but that's another thing he'd never complain about, now finally able to feel as much of him as possible and have her arms around him.

"I'm sure we can work something out," Jack says, his fingertips drawing soothing patterns on her back, warming her skin underneath the cotton tank top. "How about I stay until after midnight at the hospital tomorrow and don't call?"

"I could make you extra late for work in the morning… and not in a fun way either. I'll stop trying to be fast by my standards with makeup and hair."

"Oooh, that's definitely going to add some steam… Let's see… just pretend to be shocked when I leave the toilet seat down tonight."

"Already forgot all about it. I'm gonna be _so _pissed. What else? Oh, I know! I'll leave my drawings and sketches all over the bed and make the floor extra messy with work stuff."

"Um… I actually find it kind of adorable that you're a scatterbrain. It's a quality on you artsy types."

"Plus you don't mind putting things in order."

"True. But I love to watch you work. You furrow your brow under your glasses sometimes… and I can tell you're really pissed off by the way you tap your pencil on the paper. There's this whole… world you're wrapped up into and I know you're so focused on creating something, making someone's home beautiful. It's actually kinda… sexy."

She watches him for a while, her fingers running over his short hair at the back of his neck, his warm eyes telling her that there's truly nothing more he needs for now and she's done something… incredibly right at some point in her life or in some previous lifetime.

"Jack?"

"Yes?"

"I love you too. So much!"

Ten minutes later, she pulls her hands from under whatever clothes he's still wearing and starts frantically prodding between the couch cushions she can reach.

"Baby?" Jack doesn't particularly feel like being verbal now that his fingers are where they are, but her movements are getting harder and harder to ignore. "What are you…?"

She doesn't answer for a while until her fidgeting stops when she fishes the remote out of the sofa.

"Cindy's watching," she whispers in a small scared voice, angling her head towards the muted TV and the ESPN anchor smiling charmingly straight into the camera. "It creeps me out."

He does the honors of taking the other woman out of the room that's suddenly plunged into darkness and laughter.

The End


End file.
